Judas
by chibighost
Summary: [Reincarnation fic--Armenian Genocide] When the town of one of Suzaku's former warriors is betrayed to the enemy, the lines of alliance are redrawn and the unlikeliest pair sets out to discover the Judas behind it all...if they can survive each other!


  


  
**Author: chibighost   
  
Title: Judas   
  
Genre: Angst/Romance   
  
Rating: PG-13 Subject to change   
  
Synopsis: [Reincarnation fic--Armenian Genocide] When the town of one of Suzaku's former warriors is betrayed to the enemy, the lines of alliance are redrawn and the unlikelest pair set out to discover the Judas behind it all.   
  
Disclaimer: Now, think about it, if the Fushigi characters belonged to me, would my writing be up on fanfiction? No.**   


  


  


**The Betrayal**

  


  


_    "After he had said this, Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, 'I will tell you the truth, one of you is going to betray me.' His disciples stared at one another, at a loss to know which of them he meant. One of them, the disciple who Jesus loved, was reclining next to him.   


  
    "Leaning back against Jesus, he asked him, 'Lord, who is it?'   


  
    "Jesus answered, 'It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.' Then, dipping the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, son of Simon. As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him.   


  
    "As soon as Judas had taken the bread, he went out.   


  
    "And it was night."  


  
        --John 13:30

_   


  


-------

  


  
    It was dark outside, since the little town didn't have any electricity. Still, the moon and stars waited eagerly to light the way for any night traveler...but there were none. The town's every inhabitant was sitting at home, enjoying the peacefulness that the night brought.   


  
    Inside the house on the corner of the street, the atmosphere was cozy. The mother was busy setting out the evening meal while the father read from the Bible. Nearby, seven siblings played nicely with one another, like siblings do--   


  
    --then again, not really.   


  
    "GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!" Furiously, the one unhappy teenage son in the group of six disappointed daughters tried, to no avail, to remove his pestering sisters from his person.   


  
    His sisters and parents, used to such outbursts and vulgar language, promptly ignored him while the sisters from hell dragged him back between them and continued to tie an assortment of ribbons and bows in their brother's unusually red tinted brown hair.   


  
    "I'm FIFTEEN for crying out loud! I don't deserve this tor--"   


  
    A demanding knock thundered from the wooden door, interrupting him. The sisters immediately dropped their "little" brother and stared at one another, a sullen mood suddenly filling the little room that was, a minute ago, so cozy.   


  
    The eldest sister turned to their father as he rose from his chair to open the door, a questioning look in her brown eyes on behalf of her siblings. When she received no explanation, she faced her mother with an equally demanding look, but their mother only continued to quietly set the dinner dishes on the table.   


  
    The door croaked as it opened, and from the darkness beyond, a man stepped forward with the air of someone who knows that the rest of society fears him, and relishes in that fear.   


  
    The occupants of the house froze, startled by who it was that had appeared at their door, wondering _"How could this be?"_.   


  
    The vulgar-mouthed son's eyes widened.   


  
    He knew the answer.   


  
    _Betrayed._   


  


-------

  


  
    His footsteps echoing down one of the numerous empty hallways of the American embassy, the young man paused at a door, nervously taking a deep breath before pushing open the door with a determined air...and peeking timidly into the office. Conscious that the older man sitting writing studiously behind the desk was as aware of his presence, the young aid gulped involuntarily and unwillingly crossed the room to the desk.   


  
    Laying the envelope labeled, "Henry Morgenthau: American Embassy, Constantinople", carefully on the mahogany desk, he retreated a few steps, wincing as the man behind the desk suddenly set down the pen he had been writing with and calmly picked up the letter. Nonchalantly, the ambassador opened a drawer and took out a letter opener, using the blade to tear it open neatly. As the older man scanned the letter, the aid kept his eyes fixed firmly on his superior's face, ready to bolt at the first trace of a frown that he was sure would soon shadow the his superior's features.   


  
    To his surprise (and immense relief), the tsunami he had forecasted never came.   


  
    Relaxing visibly, the young man ran one hand through his thick blond hair, and managed to work up the courage to speak. "Sir? Is...is it...bad?" The words came out as a mere squeak, and the aid quickly cleared his throat, adding a tentative, "What does it say?"   


  
    "Oh, the usual, Thomas," the United States ambassador to the largest empire on Earth answered with surprising calmness that the innocent aid took as a good sign.   


  
    A relieved smile lit the young man's face. So perhaps he was wrong about the contents of the letter. "So, what's going on right now in Washington, Ambassador? What national park are the Republicans trying to burn now?" He added jokingly.   


  
    Henry Morgenthau's expression suddenly changed from mild calmness to grim impatience. "That's not what this letter is about, Thomas. You know it, and so do I." He watched as the cheerful smile on the aid's face gradually disappeared. "Those fools in Washington are in a state of denial. They say they believe us, but they aren't going to do anything about it. Not one thing." The Ambassador sighed, setting down the letter and rubbing his eyes wearily, betraying the helplessness that he felt.   


  
    The expression on Thomas's face darkened. "Nothing, Ambassador? Are you sure? I mean, we've given them eyewitness accounts! We've had several of our people actually go and take pictures of these poor people, for God sake! And those...those...people sitting there in Washington won't even believe the goddamn truth when it's right in front of their eyes?"   


  
    The young secretary cursed "those people in Washington" with every vulgar profanity that he knew existed.   


  
    His superior raised his eyebrows involuntarily. He had no idea that his aid knew Hebrew! Perhaps the boy was due for a raise or two...   


  
    Angrily, Thomas spun around and slammed his one fist forcefully into the wall, causing a dent in the once flawless white. A shudder ran through his body as he remembered the first of those pictures, sent in by their best and most gifted, the German photographer Armin Wegner five months ago.   


  
    _A little girl, standing naked on the side of the road, her ribs obvious through her taut skin, trying to shake one of the many corpses strewn all around her, maggots crawling through decaying flesh, the mature flies swarming expectantly around the little girl's thin body, waiting, expectant. And the desperateness that was obvious in the little girl's face, something captured forever by the film of a skillful photographer. Her features said what she would never live long enough to tell anyone: that her soul was crying for the deliverance that death would surely provide her._   


  
    Apparently for Washington, an image like that had not been enough.   


  
    "Damn it! Damn them!" The aid swore passionately, while his superior calmly stared out the window, unaffected by the young man's choice of words. After a year, the Ambassador was used to his earnest secretary's passionate nature. "What do those people in Washington want anyway? Are they expecting us to mail corpses back to the US as proof or something?"   


  
He turned again, impatiently paced the length of the room, paced the width, repeated this once or twice, then announced finally, "You know what, why are we even asking them to help us? We should go out their ourselves and make a difference. I don't know about you, but I just can't watch and do nothing when I know that people are dying out there." Thomas gestured toward the window, where outside, the lights of Constantinople were just starting to flicker on with the coming of night.   


  
    Morgenthau found himself wondered idly. Exactly who was in charge here? Him, or his aid?   


  
    The ambassador's gaze slowly removed itself from the window to rest on his secretary, so his own gaze met the brilliant blue eyes alight with passion. "Really, Thomas, and what do you suggest we do?" He watched, slightly amused as Thomas broke his gaze and instead focused on the eagle woven on the rug below, struggling to come up with an answer, struggling to express his feelings--which, at that moment, were tumbled and snared in a tangled mess.   


  
    Finally, the young man muttered in defeat, "I feel so...helpless here. I can't stand to think about so many people dying. It drives me insane for some reason. I feel...like it's my fault they're dying." Thomas looked up and met the older man's gaze, trying to find some comfort in the warm brown eyes of the ambassador.   


  
    And Morgenthau did the best he could do to cheer up the dejected young man.   


  
    Standing up, he walked over to his secretary, who's fire had gradually cooled, leaving him helpless and vulnerable. Laying a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder, Henry sighed. "It's not your fault, Thomas. You didn't do anything to those people. How could you? I know you want to help, but you're a secretary, and an exceptional one at that." He gave Thomas a encouraging smile. "Don't worry, you'll feel better after a good night's rest. Go to bed, Thomas, and that's an order." Morgenthau's voice was kind and had the extra touch of a natural born leader, perhaps gained from his experiences and situations in another time, another place, and gave no room for argument.   


  
    Managing a weak smile, the his aid answered, "Thank you, sir, I guess I just kind of...lost it there." He took a shuddering breath. "I think sleep would be a wonderful idea." With that, the secretary gave Morgenthau one last smile, stronger than the last one, and swept out the door, closing it gently behind him, intending to carry out his superior's orders.   


  
    The ambassador stood watching the door where his young aid had disappeared many moments after the young man had gone. Finally, he strode over to his desk and picked up the letter, eyes scanning the document, but his mind obviously somewhere else, reminiscing on something, someone. With one swift movement, he crumbled it with his hand and threw the paper deftly into the fireplace, watching as the flames hungrily consumed the crumbled piece of paper.   


  
    A smile curved the edge of Morgenthau's lips. Perhaps his rash young secretary was right, some action was in order here. Taking one last glance at the door Thomas had disappeared through, the ambassador shook his head and muttered to himself, "Still as passionate as ever."   


  


  


~until next time~

  


  


  
[[Author's Note: During the Armenian genocide, about 1.5 million Armenians were killed in a period starting from 1915 and up to almost the end of WWI. Most people have no idea that the genocide even existed, and that really saddens me, because it's usually overshadowed by the Holocaust. I hope that in my own way, I can at least make people aware that something like this did happen in history. Arigato for reading minna-san! ^_____^]]  


  



End file.
